My Oh My
by Shae07
Summary: Hugh Ransom Drysdale might not be who everyone thinks he is. Knives Out Crossover Story. *Spoiler free: no movie connections whatsoever.
1. My Oh My

**A bad reputation, insatiable habits.**

It's a small town.

Finding out what bar he frequents is easy.

You also learn he's a spoiled, playboy who has slept with nearly every single, attractive woman within a fifty a mile radius.

_Douche. Prick. Asshole. _

The laundry list of names everyone else has for Hugh Ransom Drysdale is colorful to say the least, but you're only here for one reason. A low-cut pink blouse with a barely there black mini skirt and thigh high black boots to match should get you the answers you're looking for – plus some.

You take a deep breath before entering the bar, feeling eyes on you instantly because, after all, you're a stranger. Mysterious and beautiful.

You stride right up to the bar, because you need a beer before dealing with a bunch of hormonal frat boys who are living on their trust funds. After you place your order with the pretty blonde bartender you can feel the presence of someone standing behind you and his voice causes goosebumps along the skin on your arms.

"You're new here."

You turn slightly and find piercing blue eyes staring down at you. It takes your breath for a moment and he reads it as instant attraction, but that's not it. His look is cool, calculated, and manipulative, not warm, thoughtful, and endearing. His hair is a bit longer on top, a darker brown, and his lips are soft and pink.

He is exactly what you expected.

And everything you didn't.

"Just passing through," you finally breathe, giving him a half-smile.

He reciprocates the smile, "I'm Ransom."

You bite the inside of your bottom lip flirtatiously, "Yet, somehow I don't feel like you're the one to deliver me from sin."

A laugh escapes him, and he nods in agreement, "No – probably not."

"I'm Natalie," you lie, taking your beer from the bartender.

"Care if I join you Natalie?" he questions, and you feel his eyes on you.

"Why not?"

You watch his mannerisms as he talks, bragging about his wealth mostly, as you twirl the silver ring on the middle finger of your right hand idly. He's flirting and he's good at it, which isn't normal from that face.

He's handsome – too handsome.

There's no possible way he's real, much less sitting here having a conversation with you. You get lost in the banter with him, it strays every so often to the topic of his wealth but manages to steer itself back on track and after a little while you excuse yourself to the bathroom.

"Get it together," you tell yourself as you stare into the mirror over the sink. _"Just because it looks like a duck, and talks like a duck, doesn't mean it's a duck. It could very well be a goose." _You think to yourself as you dry your hands.

As you round the corner from exiting the bathroom, you bump straight into someone. The soft, cream colored sweater familiar as his hand grabs your arm gently, "Oh – sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," you reply, taking a step back into the small hallway leading to the bathrooms.

His brows furrow, an all too familiar look of worry crossing his face, "Are you okay?"

"Yea," you say breathlessly, _now is your chance. _You reach up with your right hand, cupping the side of his face, making sure your ring touches his skin. _Nothing. _"You – you just remind me of someone."

"Is that a good thing?" he smirks mischievously, moving his hand from your arm to your neck and the feel and warmth are enticing to say the least.

"Maybe," you had only wanted to get is attention, to test him – which he passed. _'Douche. Prick. Asshole. He's a spoiled, playboy who treats women like objects.'_ You remind yourself._ 'He's not who you think he is.'_

You shouldn't allow it, but there's something in his eyes that you can't explain, and you close the small distance between the two of you as he presses his lips to yours. Your hand moves to his neck while your other hand rests lightly against his side, fingers gripping the fabric of his sweater as his tongue darts into your mouth.

It's familiar and strange all at once and you weren't aware how much you wanted it – needed it. His hands pull you against him – frantic – desperate to feel you. It's not enough, yet too much. He feels, moves, tastes the same. His large frame pushes you back against the wall and you feel him press into your thigh – hard. Everything about him feels the same and it makes your core ache.

You can't.

"I'm sorry," you pull away. "I – I have to go."

_Lamest excuse ever. _Hopefully he won't follow you as you duck under his arm and all but run out of the bar.

"Wait," you hear him calling out, but you don't stop.

You're in your rental car and pulling out of the bar as he chases after you, a dumbstruck look on his wretchedly beautiful face.

He makes his way back into the bar, completely confused and sits back down on his bar stool. The blonde bartender places a fresh beer in front of him, "I've never seen one actually _run _away from you Drysdale. What did you do?"

"I don't know," he looks at her in confusion. "What was her last name?"

"Well, for starters," the blonde puts her hands on her hips with a smile. "According to her credit card, her name isn't Natalie."

"What?"

"Yea, she lied straight out the gate," she replies.

"What's hername?" Ransom questions.

The bartender smiles mischievously, "That'll cost you."

He gives her a look of annoyance as he reaches for his wallet to find an empty pocket. The look on his face changing as he frantically searches all his pockets, "Son of a bitch!"

"What?"

"She took my wallet," he replies, unsure whether to be pissed at you or impressed.

You slowly make your way to the park bench and sit down casually next to the man who's already sitting there.

"Well?" Nick Fury doesn't look at you when he speaks, just continues to look at the paper in his hands.

"Not a shapeshifter or a doppelganger," you reply, glancing around at the people in the park. "I went through all his accounts, nothing out of the ordinary. I think he's clear. Just a guy that looks like him – bit of dick if you ask the locals."

"What did you think?"

"Doesn't matter," you say. "Even though others think it – he's not a monster. But mainly –" You take a deep a breath before continuing.

"Drysdale's not him, Steve's gone and he's not coming back."


	2. Trouble

**Would you bleed for me?**

**Lick it off my lips like you needed me?**

The bar is cozy – intimate – in your opinion for an east side dive.

You've been listening to this guy for the last hour and a half and it's obvious by now he's not connected to Fisk. Parker owes you lunch for sending you after this lead. You regret flirting in the beginning, because now he's giving you _the look._

_Men._

The ringing of his cell phone is a saving grace and he excuses himself to take the call. Giving you a few moments to develop an exit strategy. Ducking out the back door is your first instinct.

"Hi," the voice in your ear sends an icy chill down your spine, regardless of his hot breath against your neck. Your mind races with questions as he leans against the bar, cool gaze staring into you.

_What is he doing here? _The sound of his voice returning you to that night.

The way his hands had felt on you, the taste of the beer on his lips. His body had moved against yours with such familiarity, but the eyes weren't the same. Drysdale had a cold, manipulative look about him, something Steve never possessed.

"Did you tell him your name's Natalie?" he questions, the edges of his mouth bordering on a smirk.

"How did you find me?" you flick your eyes up at his blue ones, knowing it's best to keep your guard up around him.

It would be different if it was _just_ Ransom you didn't trust, but it isn't.

You don't trust yourself around him.

His brows furrow as he leans closer to you, "I have my sources and you stole my wallet."

"I can't do this right now," you say quickly under your breath.

"Tough, Robin Hood," he remarks, and quirks an eyebrow at the confusion on your face. "Yea – I saw the donation I made to the Women's Foundation. Thanks, by the way."

"Shit," you had forgotten about that and you pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a six-foot headache coming on.

"Oh, we're doing this now," Drysdale remarks and you glance up to see the man you were talking with moments ago approaching.

"Just give me a minute to get out of this," you say as the man walks closer and you see the devious glint in Ransom's eyes.

"Don't worry, I can handle that," he turns as the man with black hair stops a few feet shy of the two of you. His voice rising in anger. "Is this him? Is this the guy?" Ransom points at the man and glances to you.

"What's going on?" the man asks.

"You're having drinks with _my_ girlfriend," Ransom takes a step towards the guy and you drop your head.

"Fuck," you breathe.

"Look pal," John – _that is his name isn't it? _Now's not the time, because you know even if he's not connected with Fisk, he's still not a _good_ guy and he doesn't back down. "She approached me."

"Well," Ransom glances over his shoulder at you. "She likes a good charity case."

John lands a right hook to Ransom's face as he turns back to face him. Your hand flies to your mouth as you watch the rage flash in Drysdale's eyes.

For a playboy, he can take a punch.

And throw one.

You jump from the bar stool after his fist connects with the other man's jaw, "That's enough." You move between them, grabbing Drysdale by the arm. "Let's go." Looking at John as you say, "I'm sorry."

Once outside, you follow him around the corner of the bar to see a black sports car by the curb and watch as Ransom opens the passenger door, "Get in."

"I don't think so," you fold your arms across your chest defiantly.

"You have some explaining to do," he states simply, arm resting on the roof of the car. "Look, I know _who_ you are." He pauses before he says your name, watching as your eyes widen. "I know that you work for the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division – or S.H.I.E.L.D. – as everyone else likes to call it." Your breathing stops, because there's no way he should be able to find out that information. "So, get in the car."

The car ride is silent for a few moments before you pull a tissue from your jacket pocket and offer it to the man next to you, "You're bleeding."

He accepts it as he glances in the rearview mirror, quickly wiping the blood from his nose, "Well, that usually happens in a bar fight."

"Okay, Swayze, that wasn't a bar fight," you turn to him in your seat. "It was _one_ punch and you _were _being an ass."

"What were you doing there?" Ransom changes the tone quickly. "It obviously wasn't a _real _date, so what was it?"

"Classified."

He stops the car at a red light and glances over at you seriously, "Was I classified?" You drop your gaze away from his. "I may be a lot of things, but a criminal isn't one of them." He gives you a moment to respond and continues when you don't. "Why me?" The light turns green and he focuses his attention back to the road. "I assume the theft was all your idea – or do they teach pick pocketing at the S.H.I.E.L.D. academy?"

"They thought you were someone else," you say quietly, watching the streetlights pass in the dark. "I was sent to get confirmation."

"Did you get that confirmation before _or _after you had your tongue down my throat?"

You sigh, closing your eyes in disgust, "Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you home," he responds. "You still have my wallet – remember?"

Once inside your apartment you head straight for your room, knowing the wallet is tucked away in your nightstand drawer, "I'll be right back."

"Take your time," he remarks as he takes in the simple décor of your tiny apartment, walking over to a bookshelf. It's filled with hardback novels and small knickknacks, as well as a few picture frames.

Ransom does a double take at one of the framed photographs on the shelf, grabbing it to get a closer look at the man who's sitting behind you, arms draped across your shoulders, pulling you tightly to him. His face rests against yours and Ransom recognizes him.

It's the same face he sees in the mirror.

"Okay, here's your wallet you can –" your voice drops off as you see him standing there with the picture frame in his hand.

His blue eyes flick from the photo up to yours and you can't tell if there's confusion or anger there – or both. His jaw clenches before he speaks, "What the fuck is this?"

"I told you," you begin quietly, walking over to take the frame from him. "They thought you were someone else." You hand him the wallet before turning to place the photo back on the shelf. "You have what you came for – you can leave now."

"Not until you tell me who he was," Ransom says watching as you turn around angrily.

"He was a better man than you'll ever be," you snap coldly. "That's all you need to know. Now get the fuck out."

Drysdale looks a little shaken by your assertiveness, but he turns to leave. You hear the door open and his voice exclaim, "What the hell?" The commotion at your door that follows, puts you on high alert and you quickly move for the gun you have hidden under your coffee table. A stinging sensation in your arm is the last thing you remember before collapsing to the floor.

"Are you awake?" you hear a hushed voice question. You blink slowly, feeling the dark and damp that surrounds you. You're on the floor with your arms stretched above your head. The cold metal around your wrists lets you know you're handcuffed to something above you.

"Yea," you respond groggily. "You okay?"

"What the fuck is going on?" Ransom questions and you see him sitting in a chair across from you.

"I don't know," you respond. "What did you see?"

"There were two of them, both in masks," he says. "One of them stabbed with a syringe."

"Ketamine," you comment quietly. "Bet you wish now you'd bought a new wallet huh?"

"No shit."

You glance up to see the steel bar running the length of the wall and you wrap your hands around it, testing the sturdiness of it, before you pull yourself up from the floor, bracing your back to the wall as you fumble for the bobby pin in your hair.

The door jerking open snaps your attention to the man who enters, as you slide back to the floor. He strides over, illuminating a small lightbulb that dangles from the ceiling.

"Good you're awake," his German accent unmistakable.

"Who are you?" you question as he grabs a knife from a nearby table.

"That's none of your concern," he states, moving towards Ransom in the chair. "I just need a few answers." He glares down at Drysdale.

"Hey – he's not who you think he is," you yell out from your place on the floor and Ransom sees the concern in your face.

"Oh, trust me," the man states. "I'm well aware he's not Steve Rogers." He turns to look at you menacingly. "But how convenient it is for this man to be at your home. It would seem you have a type."

"You got it all wrong," Ransom comments. "I don't even know her."

"Even so – I trust she'll tell me what I want to know," the man grabs Drysdale by the top of his head, jerking it back as he shoves the blade against his throat.

"Don't!" fear flashes across your features and the German smiles. "Don't hurt him. He's got nothing to do with this. What do you want to know?"

"See," the man glances down at Ransom. "You might not know her, but I do. Did you know you look almost identical to her boyfriend?" He looks back over to you. "Or should I say _ex_-boyfriend?"

"What are you talking about?" Drysdale asks, drawing his attention away from you.

"He left her," the man states. "Abandoned her and everyone else."

"He didn't abandon us," you interrupt angrily. "After everything he did – he deserved a chance to be happy."

"If you say so," the German remarks wickedly. "Now, where's the artifact?"

You raise an eyebrow at him curiously, "I'm going to need you to elaborate."

"Take a lot of artifacts, do you?" Ransom asks dryly.

"Oh, shut up," you glare at him.

"You know," the blue-eyed man says, gaining the German's attention. "I'd never take her for a thief, but that's how I met her. She stole my wallet." He furrows his brow at the man with the knife. "Who even does that?"

While he talks, you manage to use the pin from your hair to free one of your wrists and you quietly stand up from the floor. You move quickly, kicking the back of the German's knee to bring him to the ground. Ransom watches in surprise as you move with assassin like precision, taking the knife from the man before knocking him out with a reverse jab of your elbow.

"Holy shit," he says under his breath, as you dig through the pockets of the man on the floor. Pulling a small revolver from inside his jacket, you check to confirm it's loaded before tucking it in the waistband of your jeans. "That was – amazing."

You roll your eyes as you use the keys to unlock the cuffs on his wrists, "We need to get out of here." Standing back up, you place your hands on your hips and time slows down as you watch Ransom's eyes widen in fear.

He acts on instinct, seeing the other man with the gun pointed at you. A move so out of character, it surprises himself most of all.

You start to turn around, feeling him tackle you to the ground as the shot rings out. You quickly pull the revolver from your waistband and fire two rounds into the other man's chest.

"Fuck," Ransom hisses, burying his face into your shoulder as you watch the man who came in from behind crumble to the floor. After a moment he lifts his head, staring down at you intensely. "That hurt."

You feel the warmth seeping through your shirt, and you glance to his arm, seeing the blood there. Your voice nonchalant as you say, "You're bleeding."

"Yea," he quips. "I'm beginning to see a pattern."

"That was incredibly stupid," you reprimand as you place tape around the bandage. Ransom sits on the edge of your bathtub, the sleeve of his white under shirt pushed up to this shoulder. The blue sweater he'd been wearing earlier discarded on the tile floor.

"Um – you're welcome," he remarks sarcastically as you finish bandaging up the wound. "I took a bullet for you."

You give him an unimpressed look, "Oh please, it's barely a flesh wound."

He watches you turn back to the sink, waiting a moment before he continues, "He struck a nerve back there, didn't he?" You cut your eyes over at him. "Talking about – Steve – was it?"

"He didn't abandon us," you repeat quietly.

"Okay," Ransom leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "But he still left." You glance down at the sink. "That couldn't have been easy." He waits a moment before changing the subject "So, what artifact were they looking for?"

You turn, leaning back against the sink as you fold your arms across your chest, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips, "Well, that's – classified."

"Of course it is," he smirks.

Ransom sits in the chair waiting patiently. After all, his grandfather had pulled several favors to get him this opportunity. Although his book wouldn't be a murder mystery like those that had built his grandfather's empire, he had seen the passion in your eyes for the man who looked eerily similar to him, and he hoped to bring those feelings to life on page.

The door to the office opens and you step inside, eyes widening in shock to see the man sitting across from Fury's desk, "What's he doing here?"

"Glad you could join us," Fury states as you close the door behind you. "Mr. Drysdale is going to be doing a book on Captain Rogers' life." Nick's words make your heart stop. "He's asked for all the best resources we have for him to use for the book and –" Fury gives a half smile as he glances back over to you. "Well, you're the best resource when it comes to him."

You glance over at the man in the chair and see the smirk on his lips before you turn and exit the office angrily without a word. Nick turns to Ransom with a shrug of his shoulders, "She doesn't play well with others."

"Oh," he responds. "I've noticed."

You pull the bottle out from behind the cereal boxes in the small kitchen area.

_Barnes' secret stash._

Turning it straight up, you feel the burn of the bourbon as it eases down your throat. _This can't be happening._ You'd rather take on an alien army from outer space _again, _than deal with this.

"I was going to ask but," Ransom begins, leaning against the kitchen bar. "I figured you'd say no."

You turn on him sharply, "Damn right. So, instead you go over my head to Fury?" Staring at him with disappointment for a moment before you turn back to the bottle on the counter, whispering under your breath. "Asshole."

He moves closer to you, "This asshole saved your life." You cut your eyes up at him. "You kinda owe me."

"I don't owe you shit," you correct him quickly before turning the bottle up again. Drysdale takes the liquor bottle away, holding it just out of your reach. "Why me? Why don't you just leave? Isn't there someone else back home you could be throwing yourself at?"

A laugh slips past his lips, "I am not _throwing_ myself at you." He stares down at you with a smirk. "Besides, you're different."

"God," you narrow your gaze at him. "I bet that line's a real panty dropper." Ransom shakes his head in annoyance. "I'll help you with your book, because of Fury, but regardless of how much you hang around – this –" You wave your hand between the two of you. "This will never happen."

"Good," for the first time since meeting him, you see a hint of sincerity in his eyes as he continues.

"Because, I'm not leaving."


	3. In the Dark

**I can see you're scared of your emotions,**

**I can see you're hoping, you're not hopeless.**

"No."

Your answer is quick, and Ransom flicks his eyes up at you over the top of his laptop screen, watching as you shake your head adamantly.

"Hell no."

"Why not?" he questions, obviously annoyed by your quick response.

For the last two weeks your free time has been filled with his smug, arrogant ass. You've been fielding question after question on Steve's life and maybe it's selfish, but you just want a weekend to yourself.

You keep your attention on the towels your folding. They're still warm – fresh from the dryer. "I – I have a date."

"Since when?" he's not convinced.

Glancing over you narrow your eyes at him before spotting your phone on the coffee table between the two of you. His gaze follows yours as you reach for the device, and he moves quickly, grabbing it before you do.

"What?" Ransom exclaims. "You going to swipe right on some random guy. Risk wasting your weekend on some asshole you don't even know." A sly smile crosses his face. "At least you_ know_ me."

You glare at him for a moment, you've learned to never take anything at face value with Ransom, "What's going on? Why even ask _me? _Don't you have a little black book?"

There's a sigh, his lips forming a thin line before he places your phone back on the table, "Granddad is the only one who knows what I'm doing, and I want to keep it that way. My parents are – difficult – to say the least." He leans back in the chair and you can see a hint of anxiety there. "Granddad wants to meet you – the muse behind my idea. That's what _he_ calls you."

You raise a curious eyebrow at him, "But if no one else knows what you're doing, then who would your parents think I am?" He gives a half-smile and you shake your head again. "No."

"It's cliché, but –"

"Fuck no," you reiterate. The thought of meeting Harlan Thrombey is one thing but having to pose as Ransom's girlfriend is an entirely different story.

"Okay then," he responds defeatedly before closing his laptop. "How about three?"

"Three what?"

"Three thousand." A small snort of laughter escapes you, and Ransom smirks. "Did you just – snort?"

"My God," you remark, standing up. "You don't like being told no, do you?"

He tilts his head, the unimpressed look on his face is one you've seen before. Steve used to give you the same look when you'd question his authority or irk him in anyway. It's a bit of a weakness for you and you hate yourself for it.

"Look it's just one day," Ransom says, absent-mindedly rubbing his earlobe between his thumb and forefinger – his tell. He's really not wanting to go alone for some reason, which makes you curious. His voice is barely audible when he says the word, which is obviously foreign to him. "Please."

You gather the towels with a sigh. "Make it five thousand." A mischievous smile crosses your face. "And I'll be your Julia Roberts – to an extent."

There's a boyish grin on his face as he nods in agreement, "Deal."

The house is enormous, and you can't help but feel in awe of it as you step out of the car. Adjusting the black skirt which you'd paired with tights and a wine-colored sweater, you can't help but feel a little anxious about what you've gotten yourself into.

_Approach it like a mission._

That's the thought you keep you pushing through your mind. Hopefully like all weekends, this one will fly by and be over before you know it.

Ransom makes his way around the front of his car, offering his arm, "Shall we?" You glance from his arm to his face and roll your eyes dramatically before walking towards the house, leaving him standing by the car alone. "Well, this should be fun." He mutters to himself as he strides quickly to catch up with you.

He opens the front door, and you step inside, the heels of your boots clicking audibly in the foyer. The house is warm – cozy – exactly as you expected it to be from the outside with it's gothic décor. You begin to shrug off your coat, your back to the staircase in the corner when you hear the squeak of the wood from someone descending them.

"Your parents just called," an older man's voice states. "They're running late."

"With any luck I'll miss them," Ransom says dryly, taking your coat. You turn around with a smile as Ransom introduces the two of you.

"Well, a muse indeed," Harlan says with a warm smile.

"It's an honor to meet you Mr. Thrombey," you say as he accepts the hand you offer him, kissing the top of your knuckles in a gentleman like fashion. "I'm a big fan or your work."

Ransom cocks his head at you like a confused puppy, "Really?"

"Please," he remarks. "Call me Harlan. Which is your favorite?"

"It's a toss-up between The Needle Game and Drop in the Bucket," you reply.

"You never told me that," Ransom comments in confusion at your statement.

"And you never asked," the response comes out a bit harsher than you intended.

He looks taken back with your statement, "Well – you want a drink? I need a drink." Without waiting for your answer, he heads off into the library.

There's a mischievous glint in the older man's eyes as you glance back at him, "What?"

"It's starting to make sense now," Harlan comments, unable to contain his grin. "With a muse like you, I can understand why he's spending all his time in New York."

You fold your arms over your chest, "I don't know what _he_ told you, but we're not –"

"I can tell," the older man smirks.

"Five thousand huh?" Harlan questions as the two of you stand upstairs in his library, overlooking the banister to the rest of the library downstairs. "You took the money up front, right?"

"Of course, but I would have done it for the three," you remark before turning the high ball glass of bourbon in your hand up. "Why did he want me to come?"

"Distraction I suppose. I mean – I love my daughter," Harlan says with a sigh. "But she and Richard can be –" He trails off unsure of how to say it.

"Difficult," you use the word Ransom used and the older man smiles.

"Exactly," Harlan looks over the rail to see his grandson pouring himself another drink at the serving cart below.

'_You always have to be so difficult.' _Steve's words echo through your mind and you say quietly, "So am I."

"No my dear, you challenge him," Harlan corrects you. "There's a difference."

The sound of the front door opening makes Ransom twist the top off the bottle and proceed to double up on the drink he just poured.

"Dad," a woman's voice calls out from the foyer.

"Showtime," Harlan says as he lets you take another sip from your glass before he takes it from you. "Go, save him."

You give a smile and a nod before you walk off.

"See, I told you," Richard states to his wife as they walk into the library, seeing Ransom standing alone. "If it's not a girl, what _have _you been up to in New York? Partying."

"Hi Dad – Mom," the man remarks before turning his glass up.

"What's the excuse this time?" his father questions.

"Richard," Linda begins to stop him.

"Did she have work? Does she even have a real job?" he says dismissively. "Or is she one of those – influencers?"

"I work for S.H.I.E.L.D.," you state boldly from the bottom of the spiral staircase behind the pair. Listening to the man in front of you bullying his son irritates you something fierce. "You _might_ have heard of them."

The look of surprise on Linda and Richard's faces is priceless as they turn to see you stride casually across to where Ransom stands. You try not to smirk as you take his glass from him, sipping it slowly as you step into his side. Your other hand slips around his waist instinctively as he carefully rests his hand on your lower back before he introduces you to his parents.

"Dad said you weren't staying for dinner," Linda comments after the introductions and Ransom glances up at his grandfather, who is still standing at the railing above.

"No," he comments, unaware Harlan had given him the out. "We aren't."

"I have a _work _thing," you almost sneer in Richard's direction – tension between you obvious.

"Did you ever work with Iron Man?" the older man questions, obviously uncertain you're telling the truth and you nod your head. "You know, I met Tony Stark once." There's a hint a maliciousness in his voice. "Not to speak ill of the dead, but he was prick."

Without missing a beat, you smile sweetly, "Well, Tony always said it takes one to know one."

Ransom nearly chokes on the bourbon he's just took a sip of as Harlan erupts into laughter from upstairs.

Later you watch through the window as Ransom sits on the patio, Richard is standing in front of him, obviously reprimanding him for something. You wait until his father storms back into the house before you slip out the door, feeling Linda's eyes following you.

"There is not enough alcohol in this house," you say quietly as you move towards him. "Is she still watching me?"

Ransom's eyes drift over to the window then back to you, "Like a hawk."

You move to sit in his lap, causing him to shift uncomfortably as you lean against him, "She's asked me so many questions." You say quietly as you stare into the backyard watching the two dogs playing. "I'm surprised she didn't ask for a blood sample."

"If Granddad's nurse was here, she would have."

"When you said difficult," you lean back to look down at him, brushing your fingers through his hair. "I had no idea."

"Rethinking your price?" Ransom remarks dryly.

"No," you say, the corners of mouth hinting at a smile. "I _really _don't like bullies." Leaning back into him, you press your forehead against the base of his neck as you say quietly. "I would have done it for free."

He laughs a little as his hand moves to rest on your knee, the heat radiating through your tights and onto your skin, causes your breath to catch slightly as he says, "I would have paid seven."

There's a moment of silence before you move to stand up. The comfortableness of the situation becoming a little too much for you, "We should probably get going." He nods in agreement, following your lead.

"I'm telling you," Richards voice echoes from the library. "There's something going on here. A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent – really? I'm not buying it. That asshole is up to something."

The audacity of the man baffles you, and Ransom tries to catch up as you storm into the library and over to where his father stands. You grab the collar of your sweater jerking it down, exposing your shoulder and the bright pink scar there.

"Six months ago, I was shot in Paris by an arms dealer," you say angrily. "Because _that's_ my job." Harlan stands up from his chair, watching the scene unfold. You turn to Ransom grabbing his sleeve and tugging it.

"I don't –" he looks down at you, but can see the rage in your eyes and he sighs before he pulls his arm from the sleeve, allowing you to move the sweater over his shoulder as you push the sleeve of his undershirt up, exposing the fresh scar there.

"Ransom what is that?" Linda questions her son, concern on her face.

"That's from a bullet," you answer for him. "You know what kind of person takes a bullet for someone else?" You ask rhetorically. "Someone with a good heart and how he got _that_, living in such a toxic environment, is beyond me." Harlan can't hide the smile on his face as Ransom eases his arm back into his sweater sleeve. "So – in my book – you're the asshole." Richard stands there, shell shocked as you glance past them to Harlan. "Sorry Harlan, it _was_ great meeting you."

"Pleasure was mine dear," he nods as you turn to storm out of the library.

Ransom gives a cocky smile as he waves before he turns to follow after you, watching you grab your coat before you open the door and head outside. He has to jog to catch up with you, his hand reaching for the passenger door before you can.

"You didn't have to do that," he comments quietly, watching your nostrils flare slightly as you try to steady your breathing.

"Someone needed to," you reply as he opens the door.

Once he climbs into the driver seat, he sits there for a moment before saying, "Thank you."

"Oh, I'll also be taking the master tonight," you remark with a smirk.

He laughs as he starts the car, "Of course you will."

Once inside Ransom's house you head straight for the kitchen, looking through the refrigerator first before nosily pulling open the drawer for the freezer.

"Well, well, well," you comment to yourself, grabbing the pint of ice cream.

"If you're hungry, we could order in," Ransom says walking in behind. "Or go out."

"This will work," you say, producing the container. "I didn't take you for a cookies and cream kind of guy."

"You never asked," he grins, watching you search for a spoon. "Left drawer." You open the one he's talking about and pull out two spoons. "Thank you again – for today."

"You're welcome," you remove the top from the pint and hand Ransom a spoon.

"You really stepped up," he remarks. "Played your part quiet well."

Scooping up some ice cream casually, you say, "You realize undercover work is part of my job." He watches you curiously as you slip the spoon from your mouth.

"What's the most fun?" he looks intrigued. "Role that you've had to play?"

Thinking for a moment as he slips a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth you finally answer, "Housewife. For over a week."

"Really? With who?"

"That's classified," you say with a smirk causing him to laugh. Looking down at the pint of ice cream a thought strikes you. "Got any vodka?" He moves to a cabinet producing the bottle you asked for and watches as you go to the refrigerator. "Glasses too, please." Ransom grabs those as well and leans against the counter as you begin measuring out the liquor and scooping ice cream into each glass, followed by milk.

Ransom walks past you to open another drawer, pulling out two straws as you finish stirring up the drinks. He takes the glass you offer him, placing a straw in it and yours before taking a sip. His eyebrows shoot up as he tries the milkshake. "This is – good."

"Of course it is," you respond.

Three shakes later and you're giggling at Ransom telling you the story of last Thanksgiving with his family. "It was nothing compared to today though." He looks over at you, the fireplace in front illuminating both your faces. "You were great – thank you."

"That's the third time you've said that," you remark jokingly. "Is 'thank you' a new phrase for you?"

Watching him look at the fire almost reminiscently as you place your glass on the small table between you. His voice is barely audible when he responds, "What you did for me – that was new."

"I can see that," you reply quietly, knowing that growing up with his family couldn't have been easy. "I should call it a night."

"Straight up the stairs, end of the hall," Ransom says nodding towards the staircase. You stand up slowly, feeling slightly lightheaded from the vodka as you head for the stairs. "Hey." He calls and you stop, turning to look at him. "That mission – the classified one." Glancing up at you with that sincerity that you've caught a glimpse of before, he continues. "It was Rogers, wasn't it?"

You give him a small grin, "Night Ransom."

He waits until you're upstairs and the bedroom door closes before he pulls his phone from his pocket, opening the application with several saved recordings. The first one is listed:

_Agent S. Wilson, Phone Interview_

He slides the bar forward a few minutes with his finger before he presses play and Sam's voice comes through the phone speaker.

'_She and Steve, that relationship was – complicated. They loved each other though, in their own way.'_

'_How would you describe her?' Ransom's voice comes across the device._

'_She's one of a kind. I've seen her defy direct orders to save a friend. She's loyal – bossy – but she'll do anything for those she cares about,' Sam's words sound thoughtful. 'I'm proud to call her a friend.' _

Ransom had gotten a glimpse today of what Wilson had been talking about. You were relentless in your defense of him, something no one has ever done. He was glad he had invited you along. He had originally wanted to show his parents he could date someone smart – driven – but you had proven so much more than that in the short time you'd spent with them. He had seen that fire in your eyes, which led to the nagging question in the back of his mind – why?

Was that confidence – passion – in your eyes when you spoke of him meant_ for_ him, or for the man he reminds you of?


	4. Stone Cold

**God knows I tried to feel**

**Happy for you**

**Know that I am, even if I**

**Can't understand, I'll take the pain**

_The door to your apartment creaks as it opens, and your entire body goes numb as you see the man step into view. The remorseful look in his steel blue eyes tells you everything you need to know, but you ask anyway._

"_He stayed with __**her**__, didn't he?" _

_The tears well up in your eyes and Barnes closes the short distance to wrap his arms around you, sinking with you to the floor as silent tears stream down your face. _

"_I'm sorry – I'm so sorry, doll."_

"_No – no," you whisper quietly. _

_After everything. _

_Natasha._

_Tony._

_You can't wrap your mind around how he could do this._

"Hey," Ransom's voice brings you back to the present. "What do you think? Wilson said he knew Rogers the longest, but I can't get him to return my calls."

You sigh because you're not sure it'll do any good. Sam had settled with a phone interview because he and Barnes were away on a mission, but Barnes had refused even that.

"I'll talk to him," you remark quietly. "He _usually_ listens to me."

Ransom stands from the chair in your living room and begins to approach where you stand in your kitchen, his head tilting curiously, "Really?"

You take a bite of the frosted flakes cereal from the bowl in front of you, shaking your head at him as you do so. "Nuh uh." You mumble around the food in your mouth. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" he smirks. "This is – classic." You take another bite of cereal as Ransom leans against your counter. "You were pining and the best friend swoops in to – comfort you."

"It's not like that," you state flicking your eyes over to him. "We're friends." You clench your jaw in annoyance as Ransom continues to stare at you with that boyish grin.

"Friends," he reiterates not believing you.

"There was _one_ tequila infused night that we don't talk much about – okay."

"I _knew_ it!"

"Don't make me stab you," the words slip past your lips only half threatening as you point your spoon at him.

"With that?" Ransom questions, eyeing the utensil.

"It'll hurt more," you reply before shoving it back into bowl of cereal.

**Later that afternoon**

You spin quickly, but he grabs your wrist instantly. The vibranium is cool against your skin and the mechanisms in his hand make an almost ominous sound as his grip tightens and he flips you onto your back.

"You're rusty," Bucky remarks before helping you up from the sparring mat.

"Says the hundred-year-old man," you state under your breath.

"I'm kicking your ass, aren't I?"

"Oooohhh," you cut your eyes over at him. "That new haircut is making you cocky."

Tossing him his water bottle first before you take a long drink from your own, you contemplate how to ask your next question. With a sigh you finally do it, "Will you talk to Drysdale – please?"

A groan escapes the man in front of you and a look of annoyance crosses his face, "So, that's the reason for your visit."

"_And _to let you kick my ass," you smirk at him, trying to ease his irritation.

He shakes his head at you, "I've seen photos. He looks just like him, doesn't that bother you?"

"At first."

Bucky stares at you for a moment, "Why do you care – about the book?"

You glance down at the bottle in your hand, wanting to give him the same excuse you'd given Sam when he'd asked you the same question.

_Because Fury had asked you to._

However, you know Barnes can see through even the slightest of lies when it comes to you. "Regardless of what he did," your words come out slowly. "Steve was the best of us." You glance up at your friend. "I can't let my feelings get in the way of that."

A grin crosses his face, "He used to say that _you_ were the best of us." Your brows furrow in confusion and Bucky continues. "That even if the whole world sees the devil, you would only see a fallen angel."

Your lips turn up in a sad smile, "Of course he did – jerk."

"He was a punk," Bucky comments reminiscently.

You fold your arms across your chest, "He was never mine, Buck. Part of me knew that going in, and I did it anyway."

"But you don't regret it."

You shake your head slightly, "I don't, but that doesn't make it hurt any less." Bucky's hand reaches for your shoulder, pulling you into a loose hug. You accept the embrace and wait a moment before continuing. "So, you'll talk with Drysdale?"

Barnes sighs, "I guess."

"Thank you."

**2 Days Later**

Ransom's phone vibrates from the dresser in the hotel room, and he quickly looks to see a new message from you.

_My place 2pm today. Bucky will be here for your interview._

He smiles as he types his response.

_Good job. You two better be dressed when I get there. No Tequila._

Your response is quick.

_Shut up. Also, it's been a long week and I plan on binging Netflix while eating my body weight in pizza tonight, so the interview better be over by 5._

Drysdale laughs at your statement.

_Promise. Besides I have a date at 7._

_With who?_

_Girl I met in the hotel lobby._

_Careful, if she's named after a flower or food, she'll expect payment at the end of the night._

Ransom sends two laughy face emojis, followed by the middle finger one.

You had offered up your apartment as a neutral meeting ground for Bucky to have the sit-down interview with Ransom, that didn't mean you wanted to be present.

"Where's –" Drysdale begins to question Barnes as he shrugs off his coat, looking around the apartment for you.

"She went for coffee," Bucky responds, watching the man closely.

"Coffee – sure," he states, pulling a notebook and pen from his bag, part of him disappointed that you aren't present for the interview. Given your history with Barnes, you might be able to pull more information from him than Ransom could alone.

Bucky spends the next forty-five minutes answering questions about the years he spent with Steve before the serum – the war. All while trying to figure out the man sitting across from him who looks eerily similar to his best friend. Barnes doesn't trust easily, especially trust fund, playboy types who seem to have ulterior motives.

It only takes an hour for those possible motives to make an appearance. Barnes had spoke earlier of Steve's relationship with Peggy and Ransom had gotten his opinion on their dynamic, but it isn't until Bucky mentions your name that he notices a shift in Drysdale's demeanor.

"What can you tell me about their relationship?" Ransom questions with his phone lying in the center of the coffee table, recording every word they're saying.

"Is that important to the book?" Bucky asks, almost defensively.

"Well – yea," Ransom responds. "I want to show that relationship as well. To lose the love of your life, wake up seventy years in the future. Having to learn _so _much, including how to love again. She loved him, that much I know." He hesitates a moment. "And he loved her."

"He did," Bucky practically cuts him off.

"O-kay," Drysdale replies. "And – then he left." Barnes stares at him threateningly before he leans back on the couch, folding his arms across his chest as Ransom continues. "I'm just trying to figure out why."

"Why?"

"It really seemed to affect her," Ransom replies, watching the man across from him curiously, unsure who's interviewing who now.

"Of course it affected her," Bucky states. "Don't sit there acting like you know her – you don't. I was there – you weren't. I thought this book was about Steve." Drysdale shifts in his chair as Bucky continues. "Is that what all this is _really_ about – her?"

Ransom narrows his eyes, "No."

Bucky leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, "See – I'm beginning to think it is. That's why you tracked her down, because she didn't fall into bed with you. Then, to your surprise, you find out about Steve and it gives you the perfect reason to hang around – a book." He watches Ransom's jaw clench. "I've known men like you. Always wanting what you can't have and trying to burn the whole world down just to get it." Bucky can see the anger on his face, but he doesn't ease up. "All because – why? Your mother didn't hug you enough as a child?"

"Careful Barnes," Ransom sneers. "You're sounding a bit jealous."

Bucky laughs, "Trust me, I'll never be jealous of you." He stands up from the couch, glaring down at Ransom. "Because, I _know _her, and she'll never be able to look at you and not see him." A small malicious smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "She'll _always_ see Steve."

Drysdale drops his notebook on the coffee table as he stands up, eyes narrowing at the man across from him, "Keep telling yourself that, if it helps you sleep better at night." He pauses for a moment before continuing. "Although, I would think that would be the _last _thing to keep you up at night, being a former Hydra assassin and all. Exactly how many people have you killed Mr. Barnes?"

Bucky's fists clench at his sides, "Too many, but I can always add one more."

"That's enough, Buck," you state angrily, glaring at the two of them.

They were so wrapped in up asserting their dominance, neither of them heard you come through the door. Your arms are folded across your chest angrily and both of them look at you in surprise.

"I should go," Bucky states, crossing the room towards you.

"Yea," your answer is sharp. "We'll discuss this later."

He gives a curt nod, already hearing your voice yelling at him in the back of his mind.

_You and your overprotective big brother bull shit. _

You've used the phrase once or twice with him before.

Your gaze follows Bucky as he exits your apartment.

The tension in the room is heavier than it's ever been.

No doubt because of the conversation with Barnes. He hadn't let him see it, but his words had affected Drysdale. Your eyes drift back to Ransom and he can see a softness there – you aren't angry with him.

There's a touch of sadness in your eyes and his brow furrows, "He's right, isn't he?"

"What?" confusion apparent on your face.

"You see him," Ransom's tone turns hard – cold. "When you look at me – don't you?"

Your shoulders drop – voice quiet, "Don't." There's a pause as he glares at you, your eyes pleading with him to stop. "Please – don't do this."

"You were in love with him," he begins angrily. "So, it's nothing about _me. _Everything you've done for me is because of his face. Because he was a better man than I'll ever be – right?"

You fight back the tears as you raise your voice, "Stop!" You take a forceful step towards him. "You're right, I _did _see him when I first met you, and yea, just _looking_ at you was the hardest thing I'd ever done." Ransom watches you carefully, determined to know the truth. "Part of me hated your face, because he fucking left."

"Why?" Ransom questions, and you start to shake your head. He watches you bite the inside of your lip. "Why would he leave – abandon you?" He knows that word that will set you off.

You glance over at the picture of you and Steve on your shelf, "He knew I wouldn't be alone. I'd have Sam – Buck." The words angry as you swallow the lump in your throat. "So, he didn't abandon me. Or us, because he knew the three of us would have each other. I guess that's what made it _okay_ in his mind."

"That's fucked up," Ransom says quietly. "If he loved you –"

"She had his heart," you reply sincerely. "I could never compete with that." You glance back to the man in front of you. "So no – I don't see _him_. I haven't for a while, Ransom." Your voice barely above a whisper as you admit it. "I only see you."

His breathing falters at your statement and he reaches to turn off the recording app on his cellphone before he sits back down on the sofa. You move slowly over, glancing at the coffee table where the notebook is. Reaching for it, you half-expect him to stop you, but he doesn't. You begin to read over some of the messily jotted down lines.

_**Steve Rogers believed in doing what was right, regardless of the consequences. **_

_**A true hero (more than once) when the country needed it the most.**_

_**Rogers was a friend to everyone and there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for a friend.**_

_**He was loved twice by women (not only beautiful, but smart and strong) with such passion – ferocity – most people are lucky to experience that kind of love just once in their lifetime.**_

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you read the last lines and Ransom speaks quietly, "Are you still in love with him?"

You glance at him thoughtfully for a moment, "No, but there is a part of me that will always care for him." There's a hint of disappointment in his eyes and you change the subject. "Why_ did_ you track me down?" Hearing Bucky's question earlier had brought it back to your mind. "Because I know it wasn't easy – and it wasn't over a wallet."

"I don't know," he flicks his eyes up at you, seeing the expectant look on your face. "Maybe it was the fact you were just so – real. I mean – aside from the fact you were lying." You can't help but smirk as he continues. "Even as _Natalie_,you weren't fake with me. I'd never experienced that before."

There's a warm smile on your face as you lay the notebook back on the coffee table, "Well, when you finish this book, maybe you should get out more."

"Funny you mention that," Ransom stands as you start toward the kitchen. "I have an idea for another book I want to run by you."

You turn around curiously, "Run by me – why?"

"Well, Granddad is _known_ for his murder mysteries," Ransom begins, eyeing you closely for your reaction. "I thought I might give it a shot, maybe put a different spin on it. Instead of far-fetched ideas, going more of a 'based on actual events' route." Your mouth begins to open slightly as you see the grin forming on his face. "Granddad's leading characters were always men, so I'm thinking for my leading character a female secret agent perhaps."

"Me?" the look of shock on your face is hilarious.

"Well," Ransom smirks. "She would _have_ to be smart. Funny. Attractive is a given." You fold your arms across your chest as he takes a few steps closer to where you stand. "Intimidating. Definitely a bad ass."

"Please tell me you're joking."

His face lights up, "All the missions you've been on, all the secrets S.H.I.E.L.D.'s kept, I might could shadow you on future ops."

"Absolutely not."

Ransom's face instantly falls, and he looks similar to a sad golden retriever.

"If you want to stay in New York – stay." you remark, watching him carefully. "But you're not writing a book about me."

There's a smug look on his face as he responds, "It's not about you – it's about Natalie." You narrow your eyes at the man, and he holds his hands up defensively, "Okay – fine." He turns around and walks back over to the coffee table and begins to gather his things.

You watch him for a moment, remembering he's going back to his hotel, probably to get ready for his date with random lobby girl. The feeling you're having makes you want to scream into the nearest throw pillow.

_What – why? _

_Are you seriously jealous right now?_

You can feel the heat starting at the base of your neck and you take a deep breath before speaking, "Hey – do you wanna stay?" He stops packing his bag to glance up at you, seeing something unusual on your features – trepidation. "We could order in – watch a movie."

He gives you a genuine smile, "Sure."

There is nothing he wants more than to spend the evening with you, eating take-out and watching old movies, because you _see_ him and not many people do.

But who in their right mind leaves a beautiful blonde waiting in a hotel lobby across town for a date, without so much as a call or a text to let her know he can't make it?

He does.

Because after all –

Ransom Drysdale's an asshole.


	5. Freaking Me Out

**Like a spider, there's a web that you have wove. **

**There's a heart now, where there used to be a ghost.**

There are many things you hate.

Being rushed is one of them and running late is another.

Both of which is your current predicament as you change from your uniform in the back of the SUV and into the black, sequined, long-sleeve dress.

"Five minutes away ma'am," the agent driving announces to you.

"Thanks Miller," you respond, wondering just how much of an eye full he'd gotten in the dark.

There were complications with the mission you were on, your phone had been shattered. You'd tried to call from Wilson's, but it was too late by the time the quinjet landed.

You lean across the console, using the illuminated visor mirror over the passenger seat to check your eye make-up quickly and tousle your hair with your fingers as Miller pulls to a stop at the curb. You pat him on the shoulder as a thank you before grabbing the black Mary Jane heels and clutch out of the seat beside you. Exiting the SUV in a hurry, you tug the bottom of the dress down as far as it will go – not much – you'd forgot how short this dress was, before you sprint barefoot up to the building.

From inside he watches you, shoes and clutch in one hand, other hand fighting with your hair as you stop running. You're looking at your reflection in the glass before you open the door, stepping inside slowly, the awkward realization that you're still barefoot hitting you. He smiles to himself, slowly approaching you through the crowd as you fumble to slip the heels on.

He doesn't care that you're late – or why. All that matters is that you're here.

"You look –" you hear him say and glance up quickly, suddenly self-aware. "Amazing."

"I'm sorry," the words begin to fall out of your mouth. "I tried to call, but –" A look of amusement crosses his face as he steps in front of you, shielding you from the other guests.

His hand moves to your temple, thumb brushing against your skin, "You have – um – blood."

"Shit," you say under your breath, fumbling with your clutch, hoping you threw your compact in there.

"I got it," Ransom responds with a smile. "Perfect."

"Thanks," you sigh. "Sorry I'm late, I was – saving the world."

"You haven't missed much," he responds with a smirk. "I gave a small speech. There might have been tears."

"I bet," you trail off, glancing at his dark grey suit and navy-blue tie. "You look nice."

"I'm glad you came," Ransom comments, and you're suddenly aware of his constant attention on you, instead of the hundred some odd other people in the room.

"Why wouldn't I?" you give him a playful grin. "It's your book launch, it's kind of like a graduation. Finally getting you out of my hair."

Ransom gives a dry laugh, "Is that how it is?"

"Isn't it?" _Whoa – that was flirty as fuck. _He hasn't stopped smiling since you walked through that door and something feels different between the two of you.

Maybe it's the atmosphere.

The sound of a gunshot and glass shattering has the entire room in a panic of people screaming and fleeing in fear. You duck, instinctually looking for the source of the shooter as Ransom grabs you, pulling you behind one of the decorative support columns. He cages you against the column as chaos among the guests continues to break out around the two of you.

As he leans back, you notice the blood stain on the front of grey suit jacket, "Ransom, you're bleeding."

He looks quickly, hands searching for the source of the blood and realization hits him like a brick as he flicks his eyes to you, "No – I'm not.'

You don't feel anything as you glance down at stain on your chest, blood soaking through your dress, making the black fabric even darker somehow.

Blood trickles out of the corner of your mouth and you can't keep your eyes open as you hear Ransom's voice, which sounds a thousand miles away, "No, no. Hey – stay with me."

**1 Week Ago **

He slams his fist against the door three more times, his forehead resting firmly on the wooden surface. The almost incoherent sound of you cursing and shuffling toward the door finally reaches his ears and he leans away from the door as you jerk it open.

"Ransom?!" you say his name with exasperated confusion, and he eyes you suspiciously. Your hair is disheveled and the ragged, slightly oversized Ramones tee shirt you're wearing is obviously your idea of comfort.

It gives him other ideas.

"Why aren't you answering my texts?" he questions, snapping his eyes back to yours, swaying slightly as he does so.

"It's two in the morning," you respond, realization sinking in. "Are you drunk?"

"No," he shakes his head adamantly, before making his way past you into the apartment. "I was getting there, but they made me leave the bar."

"Okay," you respond slowly as you close your door, his actions hardly surprise you. Following him into your kitchen, you watch as he rummages through the cabinets, finally pulling out a package of chocolate chip cookies.

"These will do," he comments to himself mostly as he opens the package, offering you one.

You decline, propping your hip against the kitchen counter, "So, what's going on?"

Ransom takes a moment to finish the cookie he's eating before he responds, "I had dinner with my parents." You take a deep breath, just thinking of dinner with the Drysdales makes you want a drink. "They aren't coming to the book launch next week. Said it's not like I have a future in it."

"And?" you quirk an eyebrow at him. "Who cares what they think?" He flicks his eyes up at you in surprise as you continue. "Remind me again exactly what your father has accomplished?" Ransom shakes his head with a smile as he takes a bite from another cookie. "You can't let them get to you. It doesn't matter if they come, it's _your_ book."

"I know," he responds, before he takes a deep breath, placing the package on the countertop. His eyes travel over to you slowly and there's a nervousness about him. "What about you?" You tilt your head curiously at his words and he clarifies. "I mean – would you – like to come to the book launch?"

You smile because his uncertainty is kind of cute, "Of course – I wouldn't miss it."

"Good," a look of relief washes over him.

**The Next Afternoon**

Ransom pulls out a few sample invitations for his launch from the manila envelope in his hand as he makes his way into the hotel lobby – not paying attention to anything or anyone around him. He's halfway across to the elevators when he brushes against someone, muttering a half-assed apology without looking.

"Ransom," she states, gaining his attention. He quickly recognizes the blonde he'd stood up not long ago.

_Shit._

"Hey," he gives a smile. "Ashley?"

She nods cheerfully, "What happened to you? I thought we had a date?"

"Yea – right, that's my bad. Family emergency," his ability to lie with ease astounds him sometimes.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she sounds sincere, her eyes travelling to the invitations in his hand. "What's that?"

"This?" he pulls the one from the top, knowing he doesn't like the design – too flashy. "I'm having a book launch next week. You should come." Her face lights up as he hands her the invitation. "Bring a date." The enthusiasm drains quickly at that statement.

"Oh – okay – sure."

Ransom flashes her a smile before heading off toward the elevators.

**Now**

"How is she?" he hears the voice echo down the hallway of the hospital, and he turns quickly to see Sam Wilson jogging towards him, Barnes is directly behind him. So are a couple other men dressed in black tactical gear, and he assumes they're agents as well.

"In surgery," Ransom's voice is shaky.

"What the hell happened?" Bucky questions, and Drysdale isn't sure if the anger is directed at him this time or the situation.

"We were at my launch party for the book," he begins to answer. "She had just got there. It was only one gunshot."

"She must have been the target," the words are barely out of Barnes' mouth before he's storming back off down the hall.

Ransom looks over to Sam. "Who would do this?"

"We're on it," Sam responds quickly, pointing at Ransom as he begins to move backwards. "You stay here – keep me posted." He glances at one of the other agents. "Miller, no one is allowed in or out except hospital staff – and Drysdale."

"Understood, sir."

Wilson gives a quick nod to Ransom before he turns to jog after Bucky.

Everything slowly rushes into your mind at once – like a flood – overwhelming your sensations. You hear a voice in the distance, but you can't quite make out what it's saying. One of your hands is cold, fingers tingly from numbness. Your other hand isn't though, it's covered by warmth, and you realize a much larger hand is wrapped around it. You slowly open your eyes, focusing on the person beside the bed, elbows resting on the edge, both hands wrapped around your own. His shoulders are slumped, forehead resting on top of his hands, and you recognize the darker hair immediately. For a moment, you can't breathe, there's a tightness in your chest and it's not just the gunshot wound.

_What is happening?_

He's Ransom _fucking_ Drysdale.

The entitled, charmingly wicked, playboy.

An asshole.

_Isn't he?_

You give his hand a slight squeeze and Ransom looks up quickly in surprise, eyes glossy.

"Hey," a ragged sigh escapes, thankful you're alive. He's desperate to reach for you and terrified of the feeling.

The look in his eyes is more than you're prepared for and you glance toward the door, noticing the back of Miller's head through the glass partition. You know immediately if he's standing guard, they must suspect you were the target.

"What –" words are harder than you thought they'd be, and you sigh, glancing back to Ransom. "Who?"

"They're working on it," he reassures you. "Wilson and Barnes. They'll find whoever it was."

You give a nod of understanding, your words raspy, but sincere, "Sorry – about your book launch."

"Don't," Ransom says, glancing down at his hands. "I'm just glad you're okay." The lump is harder for you to swallow this time and you hear Ransom clear his throat before he stands up. "I should call Sam, I told him I'd let him know as soon as you woke up." His expression is unreadable, but he gives a soft smile and you return it with a nod before watching him walk out the door.

Drysdale tries Sam's cell twice with no answer, then attempts Barnes' with no luck before he steps back inside the hospital room. Seeing you in the bed with various wires and tubes attached like a marionette makes his heart ache. It's never occurred to him that you're one of the strongest people he knows.

He hates seeing you hurt – weak – knowing there's nothing he can do to help you.

Nothing he could have done to protect you.

He's not a soldier – a weapon.

Hell, he's not even a good guy most of the time.

He knows it's foolish to think you could ever see him as anything more than what he is.

There's a small knock on the door before it opens and a wide-eyed younger guy with shaggy dark hair enters. Ransom furrows his brow at the boy's apprehensive look, but his gaze softens when he glances over to you.

"Hey, you," the boy states with a smile, apprehension gone with a blink.

"Peter," you greet softy as he approaches the bedside.

The door opens again, this time it's Miller, "Mr. Drysdale, a word?"

An uneasy feeling washes over him at the agent's tone, but Ransom glances at you, "I'll be right back."

"Okay," you reply, not knowing that's not true.

Ransom's not coming back.

Peter's not here by coincidence, Sam had called him. Someone had tipped off the local P.D. and they already had the shooter in custody, and she was telling them everything they needed to know.

After a couple hours the story breaks the news headlines and you unmute the T.V. in the corner of your hospital room. You'd been asking Peter where Ransom was and he'd been avoiding the question, now it makes sense.

Every word out of the reporter's mouth makes your stomach churn and bile rise in your throat. Peter places a comforting hand on top of yours as angry, hot tears stream down your cheeks.

'_Drysdale paid the woman, Ashley Bickers, who he was having a relationship with, to shoot the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent as a publicity stunt. The agent was a trusted friend of Steve Rogers and according to Bickers, Drysdale was hoping the incident would gain more attention for his recently published biography of Captain America.'_

You never knew one word could be filled with so much anger and regret until it slips easily past your lips,

"Asshole."


	6. The Reckoning

**I should have known better than that. **

**I should have known all along.**

For the first several days, the TV screen in the corner of the room stays off.

A black void.

You can't stand the sight of his face popping up every few minutes.

The sound of his name and yours in the same sentence.

You never imagined you could be angrier than you were when Steve left.

Unaware you'd allowed Ransom that much control over your emotions – how?

When?

Being stuck in a hospital bed only agitates you further and you constantly find yourself apologizing to Parker for snapping at him – at least he's understanding. He takes your anger with stride and doesn't look at you with pity, his dark eyes only full of warmth and kindness. Peter doesn't let you see his anger, unlike Sam and Bucky, who don't try and hide their hatred for Drysdale.

"Both accounts are in your name," Sam states, as Ransom sits across from him in the small interrogation space. "Both show large cash withdrawals, a total of fifteen grand – money to hire the shooter?"

Ransom shakes his head, "No, I swear – I had _nothing_ to do with it." His eyes plead with the man across from him. "I'm telling the truth. I sure as hell never paid anyone fifteen thousand dollars to _shoot _her. I wouldn't." He glances to the bank statements that Sam slides in front of him.

"That's not what your girlfriend says," Barnes interrupts from where he's leaning against the wall.

He slams his fist on the table angrily, "She's not my –" His voice trails off as he takes a moment to calm down, lowering his voice. "She's not my girlfriend. I barely fucking know her." Ransom huffs as he glances back at the statements once more, noticing something. "Wait – this one isn't _even_ my account."

**Almost 2 Weeks Later**

Ransom's losing track of time in the S.H.I.E.L.D. containment facility, but at least it's better than prisoner. He's asked anyone who will listen and everyone who won't, to try and contact you.

"_I just need five minutes – please."_

If anyone will believe him – it's you.

_Right?_

_Are you still in the hospital? _

_Surely not. _

_If that's the case, then why haven't you been by to see him?_

Ransom knows why.

Hell, he'd believe it too if he were you.

The door to his cell unlocks and Nick Fury enters, his face solemn as he closes the door behind him slowly.

"Mr. Drysdale," the man greets him with a sympathetic sigh. "This isn't easy – it's about your grandfather – Harlan." Ransom's brow furrows in concern at the agent's demeanor. "I'm sorry, but he passed away this morning."

Three black SUVs slowly roll to a stop in front of the large mansion. Wilson climbs from the driver seat of the second vehicle while Barnes exits the passenger side, both dressed in solid black S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms. Bucky opens the rear door and not-so-gently jerks Ransom from the backseat. He's dressed in a black suit – curtesy of his mother – wrists cuffed.

"If you make a move," Sam comments, slipping the key into the cuffs.

"Please – do," Bucky smiles menacingly as Wilson removes the shackles, then shoves the man forward.

Once inside the house, Ransom sees the rest of his family have gathered in the study. His father, Richard stands at the sight of him and walks towards the foyer, while his grandfather's attorney Alan exits the kitchen opposite the study.

Ransom hears Fury's voice behind him, but it's the sharp sound of heels clicking against the old hardwood that catches his attention. He turns, surprised at the sight of you walking into the foyer, hands shoved casually into the pockets of the black trench coat you have tied at the waist.

His heart stops.

Never fully realizing how much he's missed you until this moment.

He'd give anything for a moment alone with you – to talk – apologize and explain that he had nothing to do with it. He could never hurt you – would never in a million years do that – not to you.

When you glance at him, it's cold – empty. It's obvious your mind is made up and there's no salvation for him. It shouldn't surprise him, it's not like anyone's ever really believed in him.

_Why would you believe me?_

"What's she doing here?" Richard asks Alan, disgust apparent in his voice as he glances at you.

"It was one of Harlan's requests," the attorney responds with a shrug of his shoulders before entering the study.

Richard moves closer to Ransom, placing a hand on his shoulder, "How are you holding up, son?"

He cuts his eyes at his father, annoyed at the mock attempt of sincerity, before his attention turns back to you moving past him to the study, "Thanks for coming." His words are soft, and they make you stop in your tracks. "Granddad would've appreciated it."

You turn sharply on Ransom, your glare almost as hateful as your tone, "I'm here for Harlan – not you."

Once everyone is settled inside the study, Ransom's thoughts drown at Alan's voice as he speaks from the front of the room. He's sitting in a corner chair, where he can see you from the corner of his eye. Barnes and Wilson standing directly behind him – vigilant over their prisoner. You're standing in the back, poised like a force to be reckoned with. The look in your eyes is cold and calculating – a look Ransom is familiar with.

If he hadn't invited you to the book launch, maybe this wouldn't have happened. That crazy bitch Ashley was obviously jealous – that's the only motive he can think of.

His eyes glance around as Alan lists everything Harlan owned, and he slowly begins to realize only his parents and Uncle Walt are present for the reading of the will – odd – not that he cares.

"Harlan wrote up a small statement here. 'Recently I made choice, after witnessing something I didn't think possible, which would leave my grandson, Ransom Drysdale as the sole heir to the Thrombey fortune." Ransom's eyes widen in shock at the revelation, his mind racing with those words. "Unfortunately, due to the recent events with Ransom, that is no longer an option. Therefore, I, Harlan Thrombey, being of sound mind and body – blah, blah – my assets, both liquid and otherwise, leave in their entirety to –" Alan's voice meets a stunned silence as your name falls from his mouth.

"What the hell?!" Walt exclaims, slowly standing up angrily.

"You're joking, right?" Richard stares at Alan for a moment as Linda glances back at you slack-jawed.

"I'm afraid not," Alan says calmly.

"How is this even possible?" Walt shakes his head, his face turning red.

"I'll tell you how," Richard remarks, turning towards you menacingly, his finger stabbing in your direction. "That manipulative bitch." He practically snarls. "You got inside Harlan's head, making him think Ransom could be anything more than the ungrateful prick that he is." Richard's eyes narrow for a brief second, ignoring Linda's protest at his comment.

"_Richard!"_

Ransom begins to object to his father's tirade, but Barnes clamps a hand on his shoulder roughly, keeping him in his seat. The look Bucky shoots down at him isn't just a warning – it's something more.

Drysdale grips the ends of the chair arms angrily, knuckles turning white from lack of blood flow as his father continues the verbal assault. "Maybe, if he'd paid his little girlfriend more than ten grand, she would have put that bullet through your heart and saved us all a lot of trouble."

_Ten. _

The number strikes Ransom and he glances between Wilson and Barnes. From the look the two of them share, they caught it too and he looks over to where you stand, seeing the tick in your jaw.

You begin to cross the study toward Richard, "Funny, no one ever said publicly how much Ashley was paid. That information was –" The sound of your heels echoes on the hardwood as you take each step painstakingly slow. "Classified." An all-knowing smirk begins to spread across Ransom's features. "Even when my guys questioned him and said fifteen grand had been withdrawn from his accounts, he just _assumed_ that was how much Ashley was paid – until he saw the accounts and realized one of them wasn't his. You seriously didn't think we wouldn't run the other charges on the account you opened in Ransom's name?" You raise a curious eyebrow at Richard who is fuming at your revelations. "Go and pull the security footage from those hotels. A separate account under your son's name for your affairs – smart – even for you, Dick." Linda looks over at her husband in shocked silence and betrayal.

A sense of relief begins to wash over Ransom and for the first time in weeks, he feels like he can breathe again. You glance slightly over your shoulder at him, the determined look on your face unwavering, but you wink at him.

Richard drops his head as Walt shakes his head, furious with his brother-in-law, "Dammit Richard."

Turning your glare over to the other man, you fold your arms across your chest, "And you – thinking Harlan wouldn't recognize Ashley as the intern from three summers ago at the publishing company – really?"

**Flashback **

It's almost a week into your hospital stay when there's a knock on your door before it opens slightly, revealing a familiar bald head.

"Are you up for a visitor?" Fury questions. "There's someone who'd like a moment with you."

"Okay," you respond hesitantly, it's not like Nick to _ask_ before doing things.

"Parker – outside," he states and Peter jumps to his feet quickly, following the order.

You're surprised when Harlan Thrombey enters the room slowly, closing the door behind him. He turns to you with a look of concern on his elderly face, "Hello dear, we need to talk."

**Present Day**

"Publishing wasn't for her though, was it? She joined the army, only to be dishonorably discharged," you shake your head in disgust before waving your arms out in front of you. "All of this – why?" Glancing over at Ransom in the chair. "Because you were jealous of your _own _son – your _own_ nephew?"

"He was going to leave him everything," Walt responds, his frustration apparent in his features. "And why? Because he wrote a fucking biography?"

"No," a voice from the balcony above states and everyone glances up to see Harlan standing at the rail.

The shock and surprise evident on everyone's face except for the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in the room. Linda gasps at the sudden appearance of her father and Ransom stares at his grandfather in amusement, almost laughing as he utters, "Ho-ly shit."

"Not because he wrote a fucking biography," Harlan repeats Walt's words. "But, for the first time in his life, I saw him doing something he was truly passionate about. That's more than I can say for anyone else in this family."

Ransom slowly follows you out the front door after having a talk with Harlan. Barnes and Wilson several steps ahead, escorting Richard and Walt out to the awaiting SUV. Fury and Harlan are close behind them, watching as Linda screams in her husband's face.

"God, this was – something. It definitely had Granddad written all over it," Drysdale comes to a stop beside you. He glances over at you, gauging your mood. "I mean – you were –"

"Awesome."

"I was going to say terrifying," he clarifies, noticing the smirk you try to hide. "But that works too."

"It wasn't _all_ Harlan's idea," you remark. "I had some input."

Ransom glances over at you sincerely, "Thank you."

"Sorry it wasn't sooner," you remark. "It took Harlan to make me start questioning things." You look up at him honestly. "I was too angry to think rationally, easier to think the worst I suppose. I should have known better though – I'm sorry."

There's a look of relief and forgiveness in his eyes, "It's okay." The two of you watch as the SUV with Walt and Richard inside pulls away. There's a weighted silence before he says quietly. "I'm sorry – sorry that I couldn't keep you safe around my own fucking family."

You shove your hands into the pockets of your coat, glancing up at him almost playfully, "Since when do I need saving?" His blue eyes flick over to you, a smile slowly spreading across his face. You shrug your shoulders, "Besides, you gotta admit – this would make for an interesting book."

"It would," Ransom agrees, trying not to look too excited by your suggestion. "I'm sorry, but is this you agreeing to a book?" You narrow your eyes at him, but the devious smile on his face doesn't falter. "Maybe we can discuss it over dinner."

"Dinner?" a small laugh escapes you at his sudden brazenness. "Easy tiger." A sly smile crosses your face. "How about you pick one - dinner or a book."

Ransom bites the inside of his lip, contemplating your proposition, "That sounds like a trick question."

"Bet your ass it is."

He watches you for a moment, before that classic smug demeanor of his returns, "In that case, I have to go with the book."

"Really?" the surprise on your face doesn't faze him.

"Yea – I mean dinner only guarantees me an hour, maybe two, then what?" You're unable to hide the smile playing on your lips as he continues. "A book – well a book gives me weeks, and if it does well, it could have a sequel." The smile on his face is wide – childlike humor in his eyes. "Hell, it could turn into a series – you could be stuck with me for a long – _long_ – time."

Ransom stares down at you with a devious glint in his blue eyes and you shake your head. That wasn't the response you'd expected, and he knows it.

_Damn him. _

"You're an asshole," you smirk at him.

"You like it," he retorts before you begin walking down the steps. "Where are you going?" He calls after you.

You spin on your heel, not losing a step in your stride as you continue to walk backward, "_We're_ going to dinner Ransom, and _you're _driving."

He sprints to catch up with you, grabbing for the passenger door of the SUV before you can. Bright eyes staring down at you as he opens the door, "Always. So. Bossy."

You climb into the vehicle, trying to match the smug smile he carries so well, "I think you like it."

Ransom waits until he closes the door and starts around the hood of the SUV before he makes his remark under his breath, mimicking your earlier phrase.

"Bet your ass I do."


End file.
